


The Price of Everything

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguing, Body Writing, Domestic Disputes, Drama & Romance, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, Gang Rape, Hate Sex, Heavy Angst, Loss of Virginity, Love/Hate, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Work, Slut Shaming, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, albert is an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25336855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Taking place just after the Raccoon City Incident, Nicholai and his new boss Albert develop a mutually disagreeable relationship.~Albert shrugged, interrupting casually, "Nothing, nothing." He pursed his lips comically, hands folding in his hips, "It's difficult to find someone who has such a blatant disregard for human life.""Everything has a price." Nicholai spat, silver brow furrowing tightly."Everything, Nicholai?"~
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Albert Wesker
Comments: 48
Kudos: 44





	1. Knights and Pawns

Albert held the sealed envelope up between two, gloved fingers. The off-white of the paper contrasted against the dark leather like sunlight beaming through darkness. He waved it slightly, a silent, childish jeer that mocked the stoic man standing on the other side of the desk.

Rolling his eyes, Nicholai reached out and snatched it from the smirking Brit, folding it carefully as though the check inside would shatter if mishandled and stuffing it in one of his front pockets.

"You're impressive, I have to say." Albert smirked, leaning back in the large, tufted chair and crossing his legs slowly, "Plucking people off like foxes during hunting season."

Nicholai cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing and cheek twitching slightly, "What about it? You asked me to do a job and I d--"

Albert shrugged, interrupting casually, "Nothing, nothing." He pursed his lips comically, hands folding in his hips, "It's difficult to find someone who has such a blatant disregard for human life."

"Everything has a price." Nicholai spat, silver brow furrowing tightly.

" _Everything_ , Nicholai?"

Albert's slow drawl pierced through his eardrum like a needle, the words prompting a wince to quiver through his lip. The bobbing of his Adams apple under the high collar of his grey sweater was just barely noticeable, but he wouldn't lie to himself and pretend as though Albert hadn't caught it. The man took in details like a machine -- sorting and filing them like data in a computer. 

"How long were you _doing business_ in Vladivostok, anyway?"

Nicholai's nostrils flared, head snapping to the side and gaze aiming itself at the bleak concrete wall of the large office. The name of the Russian city, incorrectly pronounced through Albert's deep, rolling accent, nauseated him. His heart lunged into his throat, stomach dropping through the floor with vomit-inducing speed.

"How did yo--"

" _Please_." Albert raised a hand, waving it dismissively with a scoff. The rest of the sentence, an arrogant reminder of who he was, didn't have to be spoken. 

Nicholai felt a headache begin to drum through his temples, saliva suddenly becoming thick in his mouth, obstructing his breathing and ringing tiny bells of panic across the back of his mind. For a moment, the walls bubbled and buckled, ballooning before his eyes in a hallucinatory jeer as his brain attempted to walk the fish-line thin rope between anger and humiliation.

"It was just... just a few years. The collapse-- there was nothing else... The military--" He cleared his throat, internally furious at the involuntary, pathetic stammering bubbling from his blathering lips. 

As he stumbled his way through a justification that would never have been good enough, a grin began to peel at Albert's cheeks, white teeth visible through lifting lips like a predatory beast. 

"Save it." Albert chided, "Does it have a price or not?"

The Russian sighed deeply, eyes slowly flicking through the air like blue snowflakes, floating to earth before settling on a spot on the floor. 

" _Da_."

~

Albert wasn't particularly good at sex, Nicholai had realised.

The first time the virologist had manifested in his livingroom, he'd made his way to the dark leather reading chair in silence. His demands, simple and curt, came without the rolling bravado of the diminishing jeers and mocking prods that came before and after it.

" _Undress in front of me. Touch yourself."_

Nicholai had looked past the dark glasses at Albert's eyes, which were darting over every part of his body and every little movement he made with the utmost curiosity. The man's lips parted slightly in concentration, his brow twitching as it danced between tiny, momentary furrows. His knee had bounced incessantly the whole time, tiny twitches of unspoken anxiety quivering through his muscles as his mind occupied itself with the sight before him. Nicholai had dipped to his knees as he approached orgasm, climaxing up his abdomen with breathy, hissing moans that prompted the tiniest, meekest grunt of approval from Albert. 

As he came down from his orgasm, Albert silently, unceremoniously rose from the chair, casting a few crisp $100 bills on him as he walked towards the door and left.

The second time Albert Wesker had sat in the dark leather reading chair of his livingroom, his request was similarly banal.

" _Undress in front of me_..." The words were followed with a small pause, and a quiet, unsuccessfully suppressed swallow, "... _and use your mouth_."

From the moment Nicholai kneeled between his legs, hands gently prodding at the fly of his dark trousers, he knew Albert was inexperienced. The way his pale fingers twitched into the arms of the chair, strong, muscular forearms contracting with even the tiniest sensation of being pulled from the fabric confines -- Nicholai silently registered and filed away the wafts of uncertainty pluming from the other man's clammy skin.

He hadn't lasted long, ragged gasps interrupting the barrage of verbal abuse that had been spilling from his lips uncensored. Nicholai had slurped up his orgasm loudly, lustily looking up at the older man as he licked his lips and swallowed the thick load loudly, a tiny smirk playing across his cheeks as he saw Albert's Adams apple bob. For a brief moment, the locus of control had been shifted. 

Again, the money was dropped on him nonchalantly, disrespectfully, as Albert left in silence. 

The third night Albert had taken up residence on that dark, leather chair -- he hadn't come alone. 

Nicholai had been surprised to see a tall, burly, stoic looking man looming behind the slender blonde when he opened his door, and while a small nervousness pricked his shoulders with goosebumps, he'd accepted the new _guest_ without complaint. 

" _Undress in front of me..."_ Albert had smirked, using his boot to push the ottoman away from him, the red tufted stool sliding a few feet away from him. _"And bend over this."_

The man remained anonymous to him, never uttering a word. He took him roughly, without preparation or protection, and his groans and grunts were ones of strained anguish. Albert had delighted in the display, a wide smile on his face as his hands wrung at his waist excitedly, fingers playing through fingers. Nicholai had quickly learned to train his attention on the red cushion of the ottoman, beads of heavy sweat rolling from his temples and dripping onto the material with soft patters and darkening spots. 

After the stranger had climaxed in him, he left without a word. Albert, however, lingered in the chair, watching him writhe on the knees he had collapsed to after the rough use. He huffed and panted desperate breaths, ejaculate leaking from him and onto the hardwood floor perversely. 

That night, a few extra $100 bills were amongst those crisp notes tossed at him mockingly.

~

"You _disgust_ me."

Nicholai cast a nonchalant glance over his shoulder at the direction of the sardonic remark, lip cocking into a defiant smirk.

"And yet! Here you are!" He scoffed, huffing a breath through his nose before turning back to the old wooden vanity before him. He peeled off his shirt quickly, discarding it on the seat his coat was draped over the back of before beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle. 

"You should be disgusted with yourself." 

"Well I'm not!" He spat, slipping his belt from its loops and casting it onto the chair with his shirt, "There is no shame in doing a job."

"Why do you keep avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror, then?"

Nicholai froze, eyes locked on his hands. His thumbs had just hooked under the waistband of his trousers, milliseconds away from pushing them down when Albert's words bludgeoned him over the back of the head. 

"Look at yourself, _Nicholai_."

His eyes slowly skirted the wood frame of the mirror as they rose. Jerking them from the trim to the glass was not unlike ripping off a bandaid -- done rapidly, carelessly, and with the assumed anticipation of pain. Something about the reflection made his stomach churn almost immediately, though it wasn't a particular detail he could place a finger on.  
  


The gaunt, dark circles around his eyes?His shitty posture? The way his hands were on his waistband, ready and willing to peel off his last defence against the indignity of nudity? 

Perhaps, he wondered, it was the looming manifestation slowly shifting behind him -- rising from the chair and slowly striding to meet his back. Albert's boots clicked against the creaky floorboards as he appeared over his shoulder, not unlike a red-horned devil in a cartoon.

"How many men would you fuck?" The simple, dim lights of the livingroom reflected from the surface of Albert's dark glasses, obscuring his eyes completely.

Nicholai felt his jaw click under the strain of the clench he could not control. "Two per night. Usually."

Albert tapped his finger against his chin comically, head cocked slightly upwards as he quickly made a calculation in his head. 

"And _how long_ were you in that dreadful port city again?"

"Two years." It was a murmur, his head dropped slightly, gaze once again affixing itself to his abandoned hands, still ready at his waistband to complete the deed of undressing. He pushed the fabric down, letting his trousers drop to the floor on its own once he'd slid it down to his knees. 

A hand on his shoulder turned him rapidly, roughly. Suddenly, they were hips-to-hips, Nicholai's undressed groin rubbing against the rough material of Albert's fatigue pants. 

The Brit casually lifted a hand to his breast pocket, fingers slipping beneath the fabric flap and drawing from it a black marker. 

When the pen was uncapped, Nicholai winced at the acrid, chemical scent of ink that filled his nostrils. He dipped his chin, watching Albert scrawl large, neat numbers across his chest. The figures sprawled with long, straight lines that spanned from the bottom of his collarbone to the top of his nipples.

Albert capped the pen again, slipping it back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smirk. He prodded at Nicholai to turn back towards the mirror, tapping at his shoulder condescendingly until the younger Russian complied.

**1,460**

Nicholai's lip twitched into a grimace, eyes combing over his reflection with an air of blossoming disgust.

"A rough estimate. I'm sure you took some holidays." Albert chirped, head cocking in amusement. 

He pulled the chair from beside Nicholai, swiping his clothes off of it and sitting with a contented sigh. Sitting in it, he kept his vision trained at the slice of mirror he was able to see past Nicholai's arm, watching the Russian's reflection intently. 

"Tell me a story. Make it entertaining."

"What... _story_?" The words strained past Nicholai's clenched jaw, watching Albert casually cross his legs in the mirror.

"Tell me about..." Albert rubbed his lips together as though in thought, "Tell me about a _customer_ you didn't want. One you didn't like. One who _hurt_ you, maybe."

Nicholai's head began to drum with the beginnings of a headache, memories he didn't enjoy having gushing to the forefront of his mind and bubbling through every neutron like a pressurised geyser releasing steam.

"And _touch yourself_ while you do."

The few, crisp $100 bills Albert deposited on the vanity after his anguished, forced orgasm remained there until the next day, Nicholai lifting the notes into the repurposed coffee tin he kept his cash in with all the caution of a zookeeper handling an angry, venomous snake.

~

"I won't be here next week." Nicholai asserted flatly, head lulling up to stare up at Albert as he pushed the softening erection back into the unzipped fly of the man's dress pants.

Tiny, soft moans were still fluttering from the other man's lips, the flush of red painted across his cheeks slowly fading as he came down from his orgasmic high. He lifted a lazy hand to push his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat after a moment of silent self-composure.

"What?" 

Nicholai licked his lips, using a thumb to collect the tiny beads of pearly moisture that still lingered at the corner of his mouth, "Don't come. I won't be here."

"Where will you be?" Albert cocked his head to the side, a hitch of irritation threading its way through the final syllables.

"Mission." The Russian shrugged with a sigh, "Contract."

Nicholai rose to his feet slowly, grunting as the familiar prickle of circulation tickled his knees. He strode over to the kitchen casually, opening the _creaky_ freezer and pulling out a chilly bottle of Russian vodka. It was an import from Moscow -- a rare treat. Silence settled in the warm air of the studio apartment as he retrieved two glasses from the cupboard, wisps of frosty vapour dancing from the bottle as he poured liquor into each.

He'd never offered Albert a drink after a _meeting_ , the man usually bolting up to leave almost immediately after he had achieved his desired goal. But tonight, Albert had lingered, and Nicholai needed alcohol. 

He replaced the vodka in the freezer, the _creak_ of the door swinging open and shut cutting through his head once more abusively. Plucking the cool glasses from the countertop he sauntered over to where Albert was still sitting in the dark, leather chair that had almost become his own, holding out one of the glasses nonchalantly. 

Albert hesitated for a moment before snatching the lowball. Nicholai turned to smirk, lifting the rim of his own glass to his lips and taking a short sip. He could hear his leg had started bouncing again, the anxious tic causing the fabric of his pants rustle rapidly as his thighs rubbed against each other.

"How much are they paying?"

Nicholai sighed as the vodka momentarily tickled the back of his lips, cracking his neck against his shoulder casually. "What does it matter, Alb--"

"I'll double it."

Nicholai froze, eyes widening slightly as he cast a confused, narrow-eyed grimace over his shoulder, "Are you insane?"

He watched Albert take back the vodka in a single swig, the man's contorted expression momentarily amusing to him as he realised the taste and sensation, much like everything else, may have been completely foreign to the upright virologist. Nicholai settled on the red ottoman, sipping on his vodka slowly and watching Albert's Adams apple bob in his burned throat.

"What I am is none of your business." Albert finally spoke, cutting the silence with a hoarse rasp. "What happened to **_everything has a price_**?" He mocked sardonically.

Nicholai licked his lips, setting the bottom of the lowball against his thigh and savouring the cold tingle it tickled against his flesh. 

"Ahh..." He began to shrug, eyes flicking around the corners of the room, "It does, but -- ahh..."

"Do you want to pay off your father's debts or not?" Albert smirked cruelly when Nicholai eyes rapidly shot back to him, widening slightly. The Brit began to coo, pursing his lips in faux-concern, "You didn't think I knew about that, hm? I am offended."

Albert set the glass down on the side table, taking a deep breath through his nose before he continued, "Poor little broken son of a gambling addict..." He scoffed, "Trying to pay off all those debts daddy left you when he fucked off, hmm?"

Nicholai felt a lead ball swell in the back of his throat. It tasted bitter. His nose was crinkling slowly, cheek quivering in disgust at the venomous condescension directed at him.

"We all have a sob story." He smirked, rising from the chair with a sigh, "Becoming a whore was a choice."

Albert retrieved the bills from his front pocket, dipping to the side and stuffing them in Nicholai's vodka glass as he passed the unmoving figure of the younger man. The Russian's eyes were locked on some invisible point in the wall, Adams apple bobbing under the taut skin of his sinewy neck as thoughts and unspoken words fired off inside of him.

"You're almost paid off, I heard." The words droned over Albert's shoulder slowly as he opened the door to the apartment. In the distance, a police siren cut through the sounds of nothingness, trickling in through the thin glass of the old windows.

"See you next week, Nicholai."

The door closed loudly, the muffled plodding of boots on weak floor slowly disappearing as they trekked further down the hall.

Eventually, there was silence, but for the bark of an alley dog and the passing roar of a truck on the city streets below. 

" _Da_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooo! Once again, thank you to Anon for prompting this. It took longer to write than I expected, but I was much distracted with school :/
> 
> I actually enjoyed how this turned out. I wanted Albert to be a douchebag but still vulnerable and having his weaknesses and flaws zoned in on by Nicholai -- weaknesses and flaws he could not admit to himself as having (or perhaps he did, but was trying desperately to cover up with his own malicious meanness). And Nicholai, well... he's just angst-city, as aways in my fics.
> 
> Albert being totally inexperienced but still abusive and thinking he should be in control is my jam for his character.
> 
> Should I do another chapter to this? I don't know. You tell me.


	2. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicholai figures Albert out.

Nicholai slipped the thin, black linen housecoat over his shoulders, wrapping it tightly around his naked body with two crossed arms.

He strode over to the kitchen, running the tap of cool water and slipping a cupped hand beneath the stream. He lifted the small drink to his lips, swishing the water around his mouth before spitting it down the drain along with the salty-sweet coating Albert's ejaculate had left on his tongue.

"Why don't you fuck me?" He called into the living-room, popping open the freezer door and pulling out his dwindling bottle of vodka. Since Albert had started lingering after _sessions_ , he'd gone through more of it than he had being on his own for months. It was bad luck to drink alone, after all, and Albert accepted the beverages every time he was offered. Nicholai had noted with amusement that the twisted expression that overtook the virologist's pale features when he sipped on the noxious liquor had began to subside in recent visits -- a tolerance building for the acidic burn it left in his amateur throat.

"Maybe I'm afraid of getting a disease." Albert sneered in reply, face still flushed a light pink from the lingering remnants of his orgasmic high.

Nicholai scoffed, stuffing the vodka back in the freezer and sauntering into the living-room with the glasses. 

"I have no disease." He said curtly, handing the Brit his drink. "And surely a **_brilliant_** virologist such as yourself could find a cure for whatever it is that ails you, mm?"

Albert cocked his lip in derision, lifting the rim of the glass to his lips with an inaudible grumble of venom. 

Nicholai paced slowly towards the window, casting his gaze out past the fire escape he sometimes used as a balcony and down into the filthy city below. 

"I hate Brooklyn." He mumbled with a sigh, taking a quick sip of his vodka, "I want to go back to _Rossiya_."

"Why don't you?"

Nicholai shrugged, watching Albert through his distant, faint reflection in the window's dirty glass. 

"If I go back before I've paid off my father's debts, they will hurt my mother." He said slowly, taking another, longer sip of the liquor, "She is old. She doesn't need to be bothered with this."

"Surely a **_brilliant_** mercenary such as yourself could find a way to get out of that, hmm?"

Nicholai tsk'd his tongue, eyes rolling and head cocking back in a sarcastic chuckle, "Ha-Ha. _So_ funny."

He turned to face the other man as he lingered through another sip, "It would be me against the whole _Solntsevskaya Bratva_ and I don't think I would win that fight."

Albert could tell from his tone and the pensive look flickering through his jade eyes that Nicholai had given deep thought to the possibility more than once.

The realisation made him uncomfortable.

Silence danced through the small studio apartment, undulating from the brick walls and through the small space between the two men.

"Have you spoken to Sergei lately?" Albert's voice pinched when the name slipped past his tight lips, as though it was an inconvenience for him just to speak it.

" _Nyet_." Nicholai bottomed out the drink in a final sip, "He is upset with me."

"For selling the Raccoon City data... _elsewhere_?" Albert smirked, clearly delighting in the inconvenience he had caused his nemesis. 

Nicholai shrugged, setting his glass on a nearby console table, "I feel badly. But... I-- I had to do it."

"Awh..." The virologist pouted comically, "You feel badly? For coming to work for me? Nicholai, I'm wounded."

"Because you _never_ make me feel badly." Nicholai sneered, nose flaring slightly as he immediately recalled all of the verbal abuse Albert hurled at him during each one of their peculiar _meetings_. He sighed, running a hand through his short, silver locks before prodding again,"You still haven't told me why you won't fuck me."

"I did."

" _Nyet_. I don't believe that answer is right."

Albert shrugged and grumbled awkwardly, inaudible protests disappearing into his cup as he took his final sips of vodka. 

Nicholai began to saunter up to the older man, slowly, confidently. A tiny, righteous smile was playing on his lips as he inched closer and closer towards the virologist, unceremoniously climbing over Albert's knees and prompting a small gasp from him as he plopped down on his thighs, smile turning to a dopy grin.

"What are you doing? Get off." Albert grunted, sitting back further in the leather chair as Nicholai wiggled onto the hips firmly.

"I want to get _you_ off, Albert." The Russian chuckled, hands planting themselves on the arms of the chair and cementing his position childishly.

"I get what I want from you."

"You want more." Nicholai whispered in amusement, "You can tell me what it is you need, _Alshka_."

For the slightest moment, the dynamic abruptly changed. Nicholai internally questioned his own boldness, wondering if he'd poured just a bit too much vodka in his glass, and drank it just a bit too quickly. He relished the throbbing quiver in Albert's cheeks as his jaw clenched harder and harder, processing the position he was in.

"When I was back in Vladivostok..." Nicholai dipped closer, voice a low, deep murmur, "There was a man who liked me to wear sheer, pink panties and call him **_paposhka_**..." The Russian syllables puffed out of his lips in a roll, casting a foggy haze over Albert's dark glasses that quickly cleared. Nicholai grinned even wider, "Do you need something like that, Albert? Someth--"

" _ **No**_." Firm, calloused words growled through a grimace.

Nicholai rolled his eyes, sliding off of Albert's thighs to a casual stand. He loomed over the chair, staring down at the other man with sarcastic derision, "Well what is it, then?"

Albert's grimace quickly snapped to a smirk, "So eager to please. Quite the who--"

"Do you want me to fuck you, _Alshka_?"

When the smirk faltered, Nicholai knew he had unintentionally stumbled upon the hair-trigger wire of the landmine that was Albert Wesker. A bright light began to glow from behind his eyes, the incredible jade orbs glittering with excitement as he leaned down, bending at the hips until the tip of his nose was lingering just above Albert's.

"That's it, isn't it?" The Russian beamed, "You want to get _fucked_."

Slowly, Nicholai slipped a knee onto the chair, sliding it beside Albert's thigh and again mounting the man's hips like it were a narrow stool. The Brit cleared his throat, nostrils flaring slightly as the other man's face again hovered dangerously close to his. The smirk was gone -- replaced by pensive waiting. 

"Do you want me to ride you?" Nicholai licked his lips slowly, lips pulling into a smile that flashed bright, white teeth, "Do you want me to stuff myself inside of you? Hmm?"

He watched the older man's Adams apple bob beneath the tight, pale flesh of his neck. Tendons danced an anxious dance with unspoken words, Albert's forehead suddenly growing an increasingly bright, clammy sheen.

Nicholai began to whisper, warm breath hushing past Albert's cheek as he dipped ever-closer. "Do you want me to praise you for being tight...?" He breathed, slipping his nose across Albert's cheekbone to rest his lips at the lobe of the other man's ear. "Do you want me to tell you how much tighter you are then I am? How much warmer and deeper and _better_?"

There was a slight roiling in the fabric of Albert's pants -- a tiny push of warm firmness Nicholai felt against his hips that made him giddy with delight. But before he could formulate a thought and respond to the obvious agreement Albert's body was offering to his words, the Brit abruptly stood, sending Nicholai tumbling to the ground unceremoniously with a gasp.

Without another word, Albert strode towards the exit -- halfassed attempt at setting his empty vodka glass on the coffee table resulting in the cup just barely missing the edge and falling to the floor with a loud shatter.

As he rapidly unlocked and opened the door, Albert stuffed his hand into his front pocket and retrieved a few bills. He tossed the night's fee behind him -- the money floating gently towards the threadbare area rug like faded green snowflakes. And without another word, he was gone.

Nursing a blossoming bruise on his hipbone with a cupped hand, Nicholai listened to the door slam loudly with a wince. The familiar, hollow din of boots treading down the hallway faded into the distance, a heavy silence falling over the apartment.

Slowly, the undignified, pursed-lipped expression of annoyance that had planted itself on Nicholai's face after he was tossed to the ground began to crack away, a small, soft smile taking its place over an ever-growing number of seconds that he allowed to accumulate carelessly. 

"I've figured you out, you _fucker_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh where could this be going, I wonder?
> 
> I have to stop writing at 5am before class because I die inside around 2 pm as a result


	3. New Games

"Fine."

Nicholai's silver eyebrows cocked in amusement as the words trickled softly, quietly, from Albert's lips.

"Fine? Fine what?"

Albert grumbled, hands wringing at his hips dumbly as he strode through the doorway, passing Nicholai in the small entry hall and neglecting his usual throne on the dark, leather chair in favour of meticulous pacing.

Nicholai sighed and closed the door with a heavy push, crossing his arms against his chest tightly as his lips pursed into a suppressed smile.

"Fine!" Albert suddenly spat, "Fine."

"You still haven't told me _what_ is fine, Mr. Wesker."

Albert stopped before the large, thin window overlooking the city. He cast his dark gaze into the black horizon, reflection cut out of glass ripe with the twinkling lights of distant skyscrapers. Nicholai watched him with curiosity, noting the tiny tremble in the older man's cheek he could just barely catch the mirror image of in the window. Silence overtook the dimly lit livingroom, weighing heavily in the humid, musky air of the old apartment.

"You... were right." 

Nicholai felt a smile quiver at his lips, but he continued to suppress, cocking his head to the side in mock-confusion.

"I was right?" He peeped, bringing a hand up to tap a finger against his chin, "Hmm... I wonder what I was right about?"

He could hear Albert scoff loudly, rapidly running fingers through his neat, blonde hair in tepid exasperation.

When a response never manifested, Nicholai began to saunter slowly towards the window -- light, quiet footsteps across the cold, scratched wood floor plodding closer and closer towards the other man until he was a translucent image perched over the reflection of Albert's shoulder. 

"I wonder... what... I was right about..."

When his chest was almost flush with Albert's back, Nicholai slipped his chin over Albert's shoulder, resting it atop the fragrant brown leather of his jacket. He smiled widely when Albert immediately reacted, an obvious shiver tickling through his spine at the close contact. He watched the other man's Adams apple bob in his reflection, the two both staring out the window but focusing at the reflection of their own, faded silhouettes.

"You shouldn't have to be embarrassed." Nicholai murmured quietly, a wide, toothy grin stupidly plastered across his face. "I'm a _whore_ , remember?"

"Mph..." 

"You tell me all the time..." Nicholai chided cutely.

"Mmph."

"Have I denied you anything else?" Another playful prod. 

"You're not meant to!"

Albert's sudden harshness cut through the lighthearted mood like a warm knife through butter, shredding it until it was no more. While he hadn't moved or flinched, the tiny hitch in his voice was obviously disgusting to him, and Nicholai could just barely pick up his nostrils, flared in some mingling mix of humiliation and entitlement, in the window's reflection.

 _You're not meant to_. Perhaps it seemed innocent enough in his head, before it slipped past his lips. Perhaps he'd thought it was less revealing and desperate than it actually was. 

But Nicholai knew better.

" _Da_." The Russian syllable breathed out of his throat, a small silence settling as Nicholai decided what to say next. Reassurance was quickly out of the question, he decided, as he thought it best to leave the outburst of frightened, hopeful need as though it hadn't been noticed at all.

Rolling his chin on the other man's shoulder slightly, he set his nose in the crook of flesh beneath Albert's ear, smile reinvigorating when the small, delicate action prompted a small shiver to run across Albert's shoulders. 

Nicholai's hands moved expertly to run fingers over the rim of the other man's leather belt -- back to front -- playing with the silver buckle until it was loosening under his touch. 

"Have you done this before?" He asked, fingers slipping beneath the opened buckle and prodding at the buttons fasting the expensive material closed. 

An inaudible grumble.

"Hmm?"

"... No."

Hooked thumbs around his waistband caused Albert to quiver again, the material pushed slowly down his hips. An involuntary hand raised itself to the window, clammy palm sticky against the cool glass, _squeaking_ slips of fingers grasping at textureless surface. 

"Does it hurt?"

The first real question laced without venom or abuse.

"At first. Not long."

The first real answer without farcical amusement or genuine hurt.

Nicholai moved his chin off of Albert's shoulder to peer down his back, the belted pants falling to his knees easily once he'd pushed them past a certain point on Albert's thighs. 

He skimmed his fingertips over Albert's thighs as he brought them back up, tiny ripples trembling through the muscle as it absorbed the delicate, ghosting touch. Nicholai's cheeks plucked a small smile, biting his bottom lip as he slipped a hand around Albert's waist again, prompting him to step back until he was slightly bent. 

"H-here?" Albert scoffed when his voice quivered.

"As good a place as any." Nicholai shrugged, effortlessly slipping off the thin, dark blue night robe he'd been wearing, the silky material dripping from his pale shoulders and pooling around his feet gracefully. "Here you have a nice view." Nicholai murmured snarkily, cocking his head as he dipped to his knees in one swift motion.

Confused by the sudden disappearance of Nicholai's reflection in the window, Albert looked down curiously, his attempt to catch a glimpse of the other man cut short by a loud gasp huffing past his lips, a hand slipped its way around his semi-erect cock, a rush of blood flooding through his hips at the contact. 

Nicholai smiled, planting a few strokes over the growing arousal from behind as he palmed his own erection, licking his lips as a familiar burning sensation began to swell in his thighs and chest. 

"C-can anyone see in this w-- _ahh_!" Albert sucked a breath through his teeth, eyes shooting open widely as he felt warm, moist lapping snake between his most delicate contours, Nicholai's tongue prodding at his entrance hungrily, "O-oh..."

His fingers slipped across the glass, leaving sweaty streaks and filthy fingerprints. Shaky breaths raggedly pushed past his agape lips, the totally foreign sensations wracking him with tiny shivers he was too hazed to suppress. 

Nicholai curled his tongue with every long, deep lick of the firm ring of twitching muscle, lips occasionally closing around the flesh and sucking contentedly. Filthy, wet noises began to fill the small, studio apartment, Albert's panting growing louder and more desperate as the hand on his cock and mouth devouring him greedily slowly took an accumulating toll on him. 

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window, tongue lulling across his upper lip as he buckled into Nicholai's licking, eyes fluttering shut behind his now-tousled glasses. Self-consciousness escaped him completely, disappearing beneath an ocean of warmth and need. He didn't try to curb the pathetic, meek peeps of delight bubbling up from his throat, barely aware they were happening at all.

Releasing his own erection, Nicholai brought his free hand up to pull at Albert's cheeks delicately, dipping in deeper to prod roughly at the pleasure-clenched hole resisting him. Slowly, his firm tipped tongue probed past the muscle, tightness preventing him from exploring too deeply or moving too much, but chiding it silently to relax for him.

Precum was accumulating on his fist as he continued his underhanded strokes of Albert's cock, carefully monitoring it for the telltale signs of orgasm he'd become so accustomed to in their nights together. He knew he had to bring Albert to the edge before moving on, to soften the initial discomfort of the impending penetration. 

Rolling his tongue back into his mouth to catch a breath, Nicholai smirked as he caught a glimpse of Albert's expression in the reflective glass. The older man's dark glasses had almost slipped off of his ears completely, perched just so on the tip of his nose, head bowed down against the window. A haze of red flushed over his cheeks was so vibrant that even the dark glass communicated it perfectly. 

"Do you enjoy?" Nicholai ignored his lust-degraded English, sighing contentedly. 

"U..uh..." Albert swallowed hard, Adams apple bobbing against the tight walls of his sinewy neck, "Y-yes."

In one last stroke, Nicholai collected the precum against his fingers, pushing it into his palm before pulling away and standing swiftly. 

He ran the cum-covered hand down, slipping his fingers between the cheeks already moistened with his own saliva. Dancing his fingers up and down the contour, he spread the juice he'd collected across Albert's entrance, stroking the clenched muscle softly as he did in assuring, delicate circles. When he was confident he'd lubricated enough, he gently began prodding an index finger at the virgin hole, squeezing Albert's hip with his other hand and pulling him closer. 

"So, so tight, _Alshka_." Nicholai whispered, bending over to brush his lips against the back of Albert's ear, "Just relax."

Albert gasped when the finger punctured him, glasses finally clamouring to the floor as his clammy skin let them slip from their already-teetering state. 

"Just _relax_." Nicholai asserted again, grinning and biting his lower lip excitedly as he worked his way in to the knuckle. 

The Brit was unbearably warm -- heat snaking its way up Nicholai's arm and stoking the fire in his own belly. He began to thrust the finger in and out slowly, the tight lips pulling on him perversely with every inch he worked. Methodically pushing and pulling, twisting and turning, he realised he could feel Albert's soft pants reverberating through his body.

 _A rare treat_ , Nicholai thought. He wondered how long it had been since he had the chance to fuck rather than be fucked -- _too long._ Delicacy had also been a fleeting experience he couldn't recall the last time he had opportunity to embrace, and while he was preparing so carefully for Albert's enjoyment, it provided a welcome change of pace. 

"Do you want me to try?"

Albert cast a hazy gaze over his shoulder, a tiny nod accompanying the glance. 

Nicholai slipped his finger from the relaxed hole, spitting into the same hand quietly and running his palm over his eagerly waiting erection. 

Pressing his head against the moistened entrance was met with a tiny, ragged gasp from Albert, whose fingers were curling against the window with loud _squeaks_ of sweat on glass. He wrapped an arm around Albert's waist, slipping his hand under the other man's shirt and massaging the strong, tight abdomen firmly.

"A bit of pressure." Nicholai murmured, pushing. 

Albert felt every muscle in his back tense as he was penetrated by just Nicholai's first inches, a deeper pant began to growl from his chest, a satisfying, throbbing pain delightfully mingling through the web of nerves in his body. Nicholai was slow and even in his continued entrance, the hand on his chest stroking him intently as though he were a delicate doll at risk of breaking. 

He knew he wasn't. Nor was the pain so severe that he'd ever be unable to accommodate it.

But somehow it felt satisfying to be treated as one -- with care and grace, as though it was all too much. 

"Is it okay?"

A voice broke him from the blank spot inside his head he'd been focusing on unknowingly. 

" _M-mmmhm_."

"Good." Nicholai's smile was audible. 

With that, a first thrust was attempted. Albert was so tight that it resulted in a sloppy buckle for both of them, but it was repeated with greater success. 

Working in shallow, careful thrusts that drove him deeper and deeper, Nicholai slipped his other arm around Albert's chest, pulling him back until their bodies were flush against each other. 

Albert mewed and moaned softly, hands involuntarily moving to touch and grab at Nicholai's arms, falling back into him as his legs began to feel weaker and weaker, as though they were dissolving beneath him. 

And then -- a peculiar button was pressed inside of him, a massive gush of electricity _zapping_ through his stomach sharply as Nicholai prodded his insides. 

"O-oh... w-wha-at..." Albert stumbled through a semi-coherent question, mouth suddenly heavy with saliva.

"Did I touch a little sensitive spot?" Nicholai whispered with a grin, pressing his lips against Albert's ear in amusement, his tongue involuntarily lulling its way out to lap at the rim delicately.

"Ahh... uhh... yeah." Albert swallowed, hands now firmly clenching at Nicholai's strong arms as he tried to focus on the reflection of them in the window, world feeling like it was spinning and vibrating around him. 

Nicholai grinned wider, hand slipping down to Albert's hip and delivering a few, firm thrusts into the same, tender wall, rubbing and prodding the other man's prostate. The tiny mews Albert was peeping delighted him, as did the tiny arch that had developed in his back as he pushed into the sensation. Nicholai quickly shifted his other hand towards Albert's arousal, satisfied when he found it leaking perversely. The other man trembled when he was taken up in Nicholai's strong palm, gasping loudly as he began to be stroked.

"I-- ahh... I--"

" _Da_." Nicholai murmured, rhythmically synchronising his strokes and thrusts -- pushing harder and deeper, squeezing tighter and stroking faster -- until Albert reached climax, tendrils of sticky, pearly cum dripping down onto the dark wood floor handsomely. 

Every muscle in Albert's body quaked as he came, the twitching and clenching around Nicholai's cock enough to send him over the edge, spilling his seed deep in the virginal body with a loud, guttural moan. 

The two men stood, panting and gasping together. The glass of the window before them was thoroughly fogged, hazing the cityscape and dulling the lights of distant, passing cars and the skyscrapers in the horizon. 

Nicholai slowly pulled out when he could stand to, a mess immediately spilling from Albert and trickling down the soft contours of his rear and snaking down his thighs. He watched it for a moment, admiring the crystalline contrast of translucent white on pale, almost poreless skin. The slightest trace of red came after a moment of leaking, mingling on the white flesh with a small smear. A tiny pang of something unreadable fluttered through Nicholai's chest. 

"You can shower if you want." Nicholai swallowed, speaking softly, "You should."

"I'm fine." Albert breathed, fingers dancing through the perspiration on the window and leaving strokes and curls as though he were painting. 

Nicholai dipped down and grabbed the robe he'd discarded earlier, dragging the material up Albert's thigh in a quick attempt at cleaning that the other man didn't resist. Albert pulled up his own pants, leaning down and snatching his fallen glasses from the floor as he did. The small pool of cum he'd orgasmed had just barely missed the rim of the left lens. 

"Want a drink?"

"No." Albert shook his head, his own consciousness suddenly berating him as he started to rapidly fasten his belt buckle.

"Vodka or gin?" Nicholai asked nonchalantly, stepping away from Albert's back and turning towards the kitchen.

"Gin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I HAVE BEEN SO LAZY LATELY AND BUSY AND SICK BUT I AM HAPPY TO BE WRITING A BIT AGAIN.
> 
> Glad to get this chappie done because literally ive had it beating at the back of my head for AGES. Let me know if you enjoyed it!
> 
> I probably will be continuing the story a bit more, as I do have plans for Mr. Wesker >_>


	4. Show me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicholai challenges Albert.

The music was abusively loud.

Albert ignored the masses of people his body was wading through, focusing on the hand clutched to the material of his jacket's wrist; the one carefully pulling him through the ocean of crowds. Nicholai's hand.

The club smelled like cigarette smoke and liquor. Through the music, Albert could just barely hear the cantankerous laughs, bellows, and conversations in lulling Slavic tongues from the groups of men he was passing.

Finally, a clearing. An empty, round-boothed table stuffed in some unidentifiable part of the club, cushioned with rundown dark-blue tufts. Empty vodka and beer bottles were strewn across the scratched wood surface of the old table -- ones Nicholai unceremoniously swept onto the floor with his forearm. The music, thumping bass and glistening electronics, made it impossible to hear the clamour of glass on the concrete.

Nicholai released his jacket, slipping into the booth with a smile and huff. Albert followed closely, shuffling on the bench until his thigh was practically against the other man's. 

"I thought you said it was going to be... calm." Albert turned to his side, practically yelling in an attempt to gain dominance over the music.

"It is!" Nicholai shrieked back, raising his hand and signalling an order to the bartender.

Albert scoffed, shaking his head and beginning to pan the room curiously. He didn't quite know why he had accepted Nicholai's offer to join him at ' _a Russian place around the corner_ ' but chalked it up to the post-orgasm high he'd been in the throes of when asked. He had regretted his decision immediately as they walked down the shattered concrete of the Brooklyn sidewalk, slipping around the edge of Nicholai's apartment building to a parallel road where music was just barely audible and crowds of drunkards were gathered sporadically. 

Crowds made him uncomfortable. Leering, drunk crowds amplified that anxiety.

A whirlwind clink of glasses broke his internal grumbling, two highballs of vodka being slid across the table from a middle-aged woman. 

Nicholai leaned in towards her, yelling a question in Russian to which she responded by simply dipping into her black apron and tossing down a box of unopened cigarettes before waddling away. Nicholai pulled the drinks closer before snatching the cigarettes and tearing at the plastic packaging. 

Some relief came when the song ended and changed, a new, quieter beat emerged in the momentary clamour of nothing but conversations and laughing.

Albert thumbed the glass, dipping down to take a sniff of the contents. 

_Vodka. Of course._

He continued his assessment of the crowd. Mostly men, but with a few women peppered throughout.

"You've never been to a club, have you?" 

The question fluttered into his ear, causing him to turn towards it. Nicholai was smirking, cigarette dangling between two fingers as he slid it between his lips and lit it quickly. 

"I have!" Albert insisted assertively, brow furrowing over the rim of his dark glasses, "They were all dullards at the Raccoon Police Department. All they wanted to do was drink and eat chicken wings."

"But you hated it."

"Of course." He plucked his glass from the table, bringing it to his lips and taking a small, tepid sip, "Waste of time and energy."

Nicholai smirked, blowing smoke out of the corner of his lips to avoid hitting Albert with the gust of noxious grey fumes. He watched the blonde sip delicately on his vodka -- tiny, immature drinks that barely took any out of the glass at all. He ruminated on how odd it was -- as though the man was an extraterrestrial whose very existence on earth was a paradox, let alone when he attempted stereotypically _human_ functions.

From where he sat beside him, Nicholai could see the blue eyes behind the dark glasses -- ones that darted around the room with a strange curiosity, taking in the faces of everyone who surrounded the table, and every unfamiliar stimuli beating through the overcrowded room. Nicholai noted how small Albert looked, hunched into the black collar of his suit shirt, shoulders rolled down as though he were trying to disappear into the booth.

"It wasn't easy to be an orphan, was it?" Nicholai plucked the cigarette from his lips, laughing curtly when Albert short him a furrow-browed glare. He cocked his head to the side, "You're not the only one who can find things out about people."

Albert didn't respond, pursing his lips tightly and clenching his jaw.

"I know I am not smart like you. I didn't go to _university_." Nicholai sneered, taking a quick drag of his cigarette, "But I am not stupid."

"I never said you were stupid." Albert cleared his throat, "I would never have hired you had I thought that. For _anything_." He sat up straighter, raising his chin in an attempt to seem taller, "And it was fine. I had a good home."

Nicholai exhaled, raising his glass and taking a long sip of his vodka, one, Albert noted with an eyebrow cocked in amusement, that almost cleared half the glass.

"It's shitty not to know your parents."

Albert's smug look faltered slightly, "I went to the best school and-- and I had fox hunting lessons."

Nicholai barked a laugh, "Was that enough of a replacement?"

Albert grumbled, sipping tepidly on his drink again. "As if your childhood was so great!" He blathered suddenly after a moment of silence.

"It wasn't." Nicholai shrugged nonchalantly, "I didn't have a school. Or fox hunting lessons. Just bad parents."

Silence passed between them again. A few gusts of smoke from Nicholai's cigarette finished the dwindling white tube off, and he blotted it out on the table's surface without concern for the already-ruined wood.

"We're both... _irregular_." Nicholai smirked, "Not a judgement. Just an observation."

"I'm fine!"

"Okay, _Alshka_."

More silence. Nicholai knew a question was bubbling in Albert's throat. He could see the tendons dancing in his neck, his Adams apple bobbing incessantly under his collar prompting him to wait for whatever expression the man wanted to make. 

And he did. Careful not to interrupt the stream of thought, fingers gently playing on the rim of his glass as he silently waited to listen. 

"What did you do after your father left?"

Nicholai smiled, "Military, at first." He shrugged, "I had to support my mother."

"I thought you were 13 when he fucked off."

"I was. I lied about my age. Said I was 16 so they let me join under the conscription law."

Nicholai raised his hand, silently calling on the bartender to bring more drinks, even though Albert hadn't even finished half of his first. He continued once the waitress had waddled over again, sliding their drinks onto the table casually.

"The _Bratva_ told me I didn't have to start paying his debt until I was 18."

"Honour amongst thieves." Albert jeered sarcastically.

Nicholai shrugged, "It gave me time to save a bit. But it was still hard. Conscript salaries were poor."

"Is that were you met Sergei?" The question came suddenly, ploddingly, curiously, "Old bastard made my life hell."

The grumble prompted a laugh from Nicholai -- a genuine, amused laugh Albert wasn't sure he'd heard before. Turning to face the other man, he took in the giddy grin that had peeled Nicholai's lips from his bright, white teeth. His hands were fiddling with the pack of cigarettes, pulling out another.

"Sergei... is special." He mewed, prodding the long, white tube between his lips, hesitating for just a moment before he did, smile faltering, "He was special."

Albert noticed a dullness come over the jade eyes that had been glimmering moments ago, the orange glow of the lighter not even able to bring it back. He remained silent as Nicholai took a long, heavy drag of the cigarette.

"He's the only person I ever considered a friend." The younger man nodded, exhaling from his nose and reaching for his glass, "When he heard about the _Bratva_ , the debts... Vladivostok... He tried to help me."

"And that's how you started working for Umbrella." Albert finished the thought.

" _Da_."

"And you fucked him over." Another thought completed. Nicholai winced.

"I have never been so sorry for anything in my life!" He blathered, snatching his vodka on the table and taking it in a single sip as his cigarette dangled from his fingers, "I keep writing and calling him and begging for forgiveness but it's... it's no use. He is an old military man -- loyalty means something to him." He spat.

Albert played his fingers over the glass in front of him. For the first time, the thought of having gained the upper hand over his sworn nemesis made him uncomfortable.

He pushed the discomfort to the back of his head.

"You make your choices. Live with them."

Nicholai scoffed, rubbing his lips together, "Like being a filthy whore, _da_?" There was a palpable trace of hurt in his voice. He butt out his cigarette prematurely, as though he didn't have the energy to finish it, "What is your obsession with _choice_? Do you think those people in Raccoon _chose_ to live in a city that would have an apocalypse and kill them all?"

Albert didn't respond, casting his gaze down at the table, through the little wall he'd made of his two half-empty vodka glasses. 

"Sometimes we don't **_choose_**! Sometimes life is just awful and makes us do fucked up things to survive!" Nicholai spat, nostrils flaring in frustration, "Self-preservation! It isn't a choice unless you just want to roll over and die."

"Not everyone deserves to survive!" 

Albert's sudden screech caught the abrupt end of the song that had been fading out. Several surrounding patrons turned to look at the table, startled by the bellow. Some judgemental muttering in Russian was audible and commenced before the next tune began to belt through the speakers.

"Survival means nothing if the weak slip through." He hissed, "The weak always make detrimental choices. That's how they're _weeded out_."

Nicholai scoffed, shaking his head with an exaggerated eye-roll. He stood up awkwardly in the booth, grabbing Albert's sleeve and prodding him to follow. 

Perhaps the alcohol made him pliable, because he did. Just as he had followed Nicholai to the dingy club in the first place, he found himself once again wading through the crowd, led by Nicholai's pale, strong hand on his wrist cuff. 

He knew they were walking further still from the exit -- moving in the opposite direction of the way they had entered the tight booth. It wasn't until Nicholai began barking in Russian at a group of women standing by the wall that their sudden clearance revealed a door. Painted black in broad, uneven brushstrokes, the door's handle was rusty and broken, radiating a malicious aura. 

Nicholai had to push the door with his shoulder after twisting the knob, the brick wall it was built into buckling and making it difficult to unstick from the frame. Once he had, he turned and grabbed Albert again, pulling him through unceremoniously and with a sudden roughness. 

Emerging to the other side, Albert was immediately accosted by harsh, red lights that took a moment to adjust to. As his eyes cut through the haze of dark red, Albert noticed a platform in the centre of the room with a striptease pole, abandoned chairs and bottles strewn about the room that clearly indicated that whatever it had been was an effort abandoned long ago.

The blaring music muffled substantially as Nicholai slammed the door shut behind them. 

Suddenly, a hand was on his shoulder, turning him roughly and pushing him into a nearby wall. In his attempt to take in his surroundings, Albert was shocked by the abrupt manipulation, gasping slightly. Nicholai pressed his chest against him roughly, pinning him to the brick with a hand still grabbing at his shirt.

"You think you're so superior, hmm?" Nicholai smirked and scoffed, cocking his head to the side in derision, nose centimetres away from Albert's, "Show me. Show me how _superior_ you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh I was going to put smut in this chapter and then decided to keep it for the next. Angry???? ARE YOU ANGRY????
> 
> Hopefully you are all enjoying this so far!


	5. Show Me (part 2)

Albert inhaled deeply. 

Nicholai's tight grip on the material of his shoulder was tugging his collar into his neck, slicing into his throat and impeding his breathing slightly.

The room smelled of musty abandon and the dirty, velvet carpeting on the platform. It ever-so-slightly beat out the scent of cigarettes and vodka on Nicholai's breath; breath that was warmly beating into his cheek, dancing over his pores and prompting the tiniest of goosebumps to pepper up on his neck.

"Show me."

Nicholai's hissing demand came again, quieter but with even more aggression. The Russian's eyes were flicking across Albert's face, taking in the pensive, slowly settling expression transmuting from the surprise of being grabbed to the calculation of the situation. Albert's glasses were slightly tousled down his long, straight nose, mouth agape as tiny, shadow breaths heaved in and out of his lungs. 

The crash of teeth and lips was sudden and rough, Nicholai's hands releasing the fabric of Albert's shoulder in favour of slipping his arms around the other man's back, pulling him impossibly closer. Albert made a similar manoeuvre at the same time, wrapping hands over Nicholai's hips and squeezing him against his body tightly. 

They'd never kissed before.

In all of their meetings, their bodies had never met with delicate caresses of intimacy, let alone their lips. 

Albert felt electric shocks shoot in waves across his belly, Nicholai's tongue dragging up and down the walls of his cheeks, interrogating every inch of his moist mouth demandingly.

Every oxygen cell in his lungs began to deplete, and he knew the heat radiating from Nicholai's cheeks meant the other man was out of it as well -- but a lack of breath didn't stop them. Albert began to push his tongue against Nicholai's, lips closing tightly around the other man's as he found himself sucking and slurping, as though he were frightened of letting a drop of his essence escape -- as if he could take in his very soul. 

The taste of cigarettes on Nicholai's breath became overwhelming. Bitter, smokey, and acrid underscored by vodka and some other thing Albert couldn't identify but needed more of. But just as he searched for it, Nicholai broke away with a ragged gasp, half-lidded eyes and deep swallows punctuating his breathlessness.

An undulating millisecond of silent motionless passed before Albert grabbed Nicholai by the throat, squeezing tightly and pushing him back towards the platform. When the Russian's legs caught on the edge, he tumbled down, assisted by a rough push by Albert. Falling onto his back was met with almost a nonchalance, a tiny smile carving its way across Nicholai's flushed, swollen lips as he immediately began to peel off his dark leather jacket. 

He didn't bother with his shirt, instead moving his hands as they were freed from the jacket sleeves towards his belt, fumbling stupidly on the simple clasp.

Albert watched him intently, casually undoing his own belt, conscious of the bulge that had emerged in his hips as he noted Nicholai's was also jutting out perversely, straining against the material that was being shoved down to free it. 

"How do you want me?" 

The question -- Nicholai's voice grainy and low with desire -- sent bristles running down Albert's spine, forcing him to suppress a quake of desire. 

"Turn over."

A devilish smile accompanied the completion of the order, Nicholai turning slowly while pushing his trousers down further, straightening his legs to cement on the ground and leaning onto the platform with a forearm so he was bent forward.

Albert had slipped his hand inside the opened fly of his pants, tugging himself free. The cool air of the room breathed on his erection delightfully.

As always with their interactions, the dynamics constantly tilted like the very room which seemed to spin with a haze of lust and need. Walls undulated and buckled, the red lights of the room flickering even though they weren't. It all felt hallucinatory, Albert thought, as though he were dreaming the dreams he'd had so many times since they'd started. Dreams he'd never tell Nicholai about. Dreams he denied having even to himself. 

"Beg me." He suddenly hissed, not knowing even how the words had slipped from his lips. Mind totally blank of thoughts to speak and yet they bubbled from him anyway. 

Nicholai cast a look over his shoulder, swallowing audibly as a tongue tip played over his upper lip for a moment.

"Please..." He sighed contentedly, voice a whispering growl, "Please _fuck_ me, _Alshka_."

Albert slipped a hand around Nicholai's left hipbone, stepping until he was flush against his rear, cock slipping between the tight muscles teasingly.

"Again."

Nicholai dropped his head with a groan, the heat radiating off of Albert's erection almost burning him on contact.

"P- _lease_."

Albert grinned, letting his cock linger against Nicholai's bottom, enjoying the sounds of aching need mewing past the silver-haired man's lips as he dropped his head back onto his forearm, pushing back slightly in hopes the mischievously placed arousal would enter him. Albert pushed forward and pulled back, his cock standing between the cheeks, sliding up and down slowly with every movement.

"Again."

" ** _Please_**! Fuck me!" A dribble of mangled Russian spilled from Nicholai's lips after the desperate plea, foreign cries quickly replaced by a loud, excited panting moan as Albert gave in and positioned his erection at the entrance demanding him through. For the first time without hesitation, Albert acted -- pushing himself deep into Nicholai's guts with a gasp that told him he'd been holding his breath for longer than he should have. 

He'd never penetrated a man, his last penetrative sexual experience isolated to a drunk foray with an Edonian woman he barely knew the name of and didn't care to recall. It had only confirmed for him that the fairer sex were not of his appetite, and left him full of craven self-upset at the desires he could not control. Nights of pornographic masturbatory self-indulgence left him guilty and unsatisfied at the fantasies that continued to ferment in his head. At first, he'd thought if he simply tried it all out, they'd go away. Nicholai had been an exit strategy that only continued to keep the exit firmly locked. 

His hips knocked against Nicholai's backside, telling him he was firmly sheathed in the other man's body.

For all of the constant mocking, Nicholai was tighter than Albert expected him to be. Warmer. Deeper.

 _Perfect_. 

The younger man pushed back onto him, propping himself up on his arms, head lulling down with a deep, hazy moan. He was hissing praise in a random amalgamation of Russian and English. Albert slipped his other hand around Nicholai's right hip, squeezing the bones tightly between kneading palms.

"Beg me for it..." He found himself demanding again, voice a husky growl.

Nicholai groaned, "Please fuck me! Please fuck m-me!"

Albert pulled out until only the leaking head of his cock remained sheathed, pushing in again slowly. One single thrust that left Nicholai's back arching and pushing back.

"P-please, _Alshka_." The plea came without prompting, sending a shockwave of delight through Albert's belly, "Please."

" ** _More_**." Albert held steady, refusing the attempts Nicholai was making to pleasure himself on his cock, squeezing his hips painfully hard until he ceased. 

"F-fuck!" Nicholai gasped in frustration and need, " _ **PLEASE**_. Please fuck me! I am a _filthy whore_ and I want to be **_fucked_**!" He echoed Albert's words out of desperation, praying self-degredation would prompt more movement from his partner.

"Good boy." Albert wasn't quite sure where the praise came from. If it had been a line he'd heard in one of the pornographic films he didn't admit he watched, like everything else had been. 

Deep, firm thrusts elicited loud yelps of excitement from Nicholai, whose tongue tip was firmly prodding at the corner of his agape mouth. 

Finding a rhythm was easier than Albert had anticipated it would be. It came naturally, long, prodding thrusts puncturing Nicholai deeper and deeper, the man's body feeling like it was sucking him in perversely. 

Albert knew he was holding his breath in. He couldn't breathe. The sensations wracking his body were overwhelming and demanded his attention, so much so that he forgot he needed oxygen. 

"F-fuck, _Alshka_..." Nicholai whispered in a lazy slur, wiggling his hips between Albert's tight grip into pushing back and forth as much as he would allow it.

Harder thrusts. 

Clammy skin on skin making perverse, sickly slapping noises, beating out the thumps and hums of the muffled club. 

Nicholai was whimpering, moaning, sighing, begging. Albert continued his methodical thrusts, hips knocking into the other man's harder every time, as though he were an object to be broken through. Clenches and quivers wracked his erection from the inside, pulling, tugging, and grabbing him. Albert wasn't sure if he was moaning or not, though the low-grade growls were trembling through his lungs

They climaxed simultaneously, Nicholai's seed leaking down onto the filthy velvet carpet while Albert made a final, deep thrust and unloaded in his stomach. 

For a moment, they stood stagnant, reality slowly seeping back in through the ragged gasps and cramped muscles. Albert slowly pulled out with a wince and grunt.

He watched his cum stream down Nicholai's legs perversely, dripping under the contours of his ass before curling around his inner thighs and tendrils reaching for behind his knees. Only the other man rising to a slow, shaky stand broke his focus -- Nicholai dipping down and grabbing his fallen trousers with a sigh of contentedness. Consciously, Albert began to tuck himself away.

"I'll pay you later." He mumbled, clearing his throat.

"I don't want it."

Head still a bit foggy, Albert finished zipping his fly, cracking his neck quickly before the words had penetrated his mind fully, seizing him.

"What?"

Nicholai turned, "I don't want it. The money."

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" Albert snarled.

The Russian cocked his head to the side, jaw clenched in silence. His eyes fluttered through slow blinks, pensive jade obscured by the red lights of the room.

"This wasn't... It wasn't about th--"

Abruptly, Albert turned on the heels of his boots, striding towards the door quickly.

"Albert..."

It was stuck in the frame again. Albert had to use a second tug to free it, the temporary impediment to his attempt at a hasty exit infuriating him as it gave one last sound the ability to flutter into his ears before it was all drowned out by the music blaring in the club.

" _Albert_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa.
> 
> Albert, you stupid idiot. Stop watching porn and denying your desires and just enjoy the ride Okeey


	6. Rematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert wants to punish Nicholai.
> 
> It backfires.

Albert was tapping his finger against the arm of the dark, leather chair. A chair he hadn't taken up residence in for more days than he could count, having avoided Nicholai like the proverbial plague since the _encounter_ in the Russian club. His nervous tick, a bouncing leg, had resumed after a few moments of sitting in silence, Nicholai in the kitchen fixing drinks as had become something of a ritual prior to the _incident_.

"I got in touch with Alexei."

The words were immediately met with a clamour of glass in the kitchen, Nicholai's head bolting around the corner of the half-wall to stare out into the livingroom with wide eyes, lips parted slightly.

"What did you say...?" The words were a breathy hush, barely audible over the night traffic that had begun to roar beyond the thin glass window of the livingroom, nightshift workers heading home at the unholiest of hours. 

"Alexei?" Albert tilted his head, smirking, "The _Bratva_ head honcho, yes?"

Nicholai nodded solemnly, disappearing back into the kitchen before reemerging a moment later with a single glass. Albert cocked an eyebrow as he accepted the drink, his unuttered question answered quickly, voluntarily. 

"I dropped it. It doesn't ma--" Nicholai shook his head with a self-directed scoff, "Why did you call him?"

Albert took a small sip, still amateurishly unsure if it was vodka or some other clear, caustic liquor he'd been given. His throat burned, Adams apple dipping as he took in the sinus-opening sting of the alcohol. 

"To find out how much left you owed." He peered down into the glass, assessing the crystalline fluid as though it would declare its name if he accosted it long enough, "And buy it."

Nicholai stared down at Albert, fingers squeezing against his palms as his arms stayed firm and straight at his sides. "I don't understand." 

Albert licked his lips, taking another sip. Behind his dark glasses, his eyes were combing over Nicholai's pensive expression, flicking over his twitching cheek and clenched, tight jawline. Albert could tell he was grinding his teeth inside his mouth.

"I paid your debt." The words leaked slowly, Albert's tone hushing down to a slow drawl as though he were talking to a child, "All 15 million rubles."

Nicholai's eyes closed as a sigh dancing on the border of exasperation and anxiety pressed from his chest. The lids slowly fluttered open to eyes cast at the floor, the wrinkle developing between his brows growing deeper and deeper as a frown pulled its way across his cheeks.

"What's wrong, Nicholai?" Albert pursed his lips in mock-concern, obviously suppressing a devilish smile, "You should be thankful."

Silence. Outside, a police siren was blaring through distant streets, fading out as the seconds passed. 

"Aren't you thankful, Nicholai?" Albert took another shallow sip of the liquor he'd decided was vodka, "You don't have to worry about your moth--"

"Now I owe it to you." The words were somber, low, almost a whisper but not quite.

"Very good."

Nicholai sighed loudly, turning slowly to sit on the short, red ottoman still precariously slid where Albert had pushed it the night he'd brought a guest. "What do you need from me?" He cast his gaze across his left shoulder, staring towards the window and focusing on some dark, distant point in the city skyline. "What do you _want_ from me?"

"Everything."

~

It was odd, having so many people in his living room. 

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had more than Albert and his one-time guest. He couldn’t even remember when that peculiar night had taken place, as though it were a false memory. 

_Albert._

When Nicholai turned his attention towards him, the blonde was walking towards the door in slow, steady strides. 

"You aren't staying?" Nicholai asked, incredulous. 

"No." Albert waved his hand dismissively behind him, "I'll be back once they're done."

The door latching behind the other man marked his disappearance, and the emergence of a distinct, heavy darkness in the room. 

Nicholai's eyes slowly panned away from the door, the Russian suppressing a swallow as he peered around the room at the men Albert had ushered in with him when he arrived. 

Six of them. They were eerily silent, focused intently on undoing buttons and slipping clothes off casually, tossing fabric over nearby chair arms and sidetables as though nothing were even remotely awry. Silently, Nicholai wondered if Albert had paid them, or if they were his _employees_ from _other_ endeavours. Certainly, all of them had a peculiar strength about them, a few of the muscular bodies marred with faded scars or what were clearly bullet graze burns, ones Nicholai had a number of himself. Perhaps they were mercenaries, Nicholai thought, a small shudder creeping across his shoulders as he pondered the very real possibility that if they were, they could have been former UBCS, Albert having snatched quite a bit of the deteriorating corps that hadn't been deployed to Raccoon City.

Nicholai crossed his arms over his naked chest, taking a deep breath through his nose. 

"Do you want to go to the bedroom? Or are we supposed to st--"

He almost toppled over when a backhand abruptly came into contact with the side of his face, a total shock he hadn't even had the chance to notice the impending connection of. The breath was knocked out of him, a burning settling in his cheek. The man who struck him stepped back, again turning his attention back to his belt buckle nonchalantly. 

"You don't talk." The man said firmly, loosening his belt from the loops before pushing his trousers down.

Nicholai brought a hand up to his cheek, rubbing it softly and licking his lips. Before he could properly assess what had taken place, he felt a hand grab through his hair, jerking his head to the left roughly until his body twisted with it and collided against a naked chest. A messy crash of lips and teeth immediately overwhelmed him, one of the nameless men engulfing his mouth, fingers still gripped tightly in short, silver locks. 

Nicholai tried to force himself to reciprocate, tacitly giving the tongue prodding at his lips access to his mouth. It tasted like cigarettes and hastily chewed peppermint gum. 

Suddenly, he could feel a hand clasped around his neck, pulling him away from the completely loveless caress he had been thrown into. With whiplash-like speed, he was demanded towards a new partner. Another set of lips, another tongue, another loveless caress. After a moment of perverse licking and lapping, the man clamped down on his bottom lip, eliciting a yelp from Nicholai as the familiar, tinny taste of blood dripped into his mouth. When he involuntarily responded to the assault by trying to push the other man away, resulting in each wrist being seized. Two men pulled each hand behind his back, a small, rapid discussion taking place about binding him. 

"Did any of you bring the zipties?"

"Left them in the car."

"Fuck -- Okay get the belt."

Trying to pull away was a futile exercise, each of his wrists gripped in a different, strong hand, tugging at his arms tightly and causing his shoulderblades to crack in protest.

" _Nyet_!"

The backhand was almost anticipated, but he had been unable to contain his protest. The knuckles made contact with the bite he had been struggling to slurp up the blood from, the burning in his cheek now battling for dominance with the pulsating numbness beating its way through his lip. 

"You don't talk!" The voice was different from the first. 

He could feel the belt tightening around his wrists, sloppy, tight knots being pulled across the leather strap until he had not an inch of leeway.

It became a whirlwind of grabbing and prodding, hands against his back forcing him to bend forward deeply. Around him, conversations were taking place as though he were an afterthought, or a chore to be dealt with.

"Any lube?"

"Yeah, I've got it."

Nicholai craned his head to the side in an attempt to see what was happening behind him, but just as he caught sight of the legs shuffling about beyond his purview, fingers snatched a fistful of his hair again, testing the limits his already-sensitive scalp. An erection was unceremoniously shoved in his face, demands to part his lips lost in the haze that had become of his mind between the backhands and the cool trickle of lubricant he could feel being sloppily poured down his back. 

"Open your fucking mouth." The owner of the hand in his hair squeezed harder. Nicholai could feel some hair being plucked in the mess of fingers. 

Pain alone prompted his mouth to gape open, anguish demanding a tiny gasp from him that never manifested as it was instantly stifled by the callous, uncaring penetration of his throat. 

“Any teeth and I’ll pull them all out.” 

He began to feel crooked fingers prod their way into him roughly. Two, maybe three. Perhaps from two different hands. Definitely from two different hands. In that moment, he was perversely grateful for the lubricant they’d used. 

The cut on his lip began to throb, new blood seeping out as the wound was manipulated and stretched. He could barely focus on the raw thrusting the occupied of his mouth was attempting through the haze of hasty fingering poking at his inner walls. It’s as though they were looking for his sensitive spot in an entitled demand for him to grow aroused whether he wanted to be or not. 

His body resisted the tiny tingles, disgust welling up in his stomach as the familiar taste of precum leaked into his throat and coat his tongue with every thrust. 

The fingers were withdrawn, and immediately replaced by something much larger and more brutal. He shrieked around the cock in his mouth, sputtering drool and cum from the corners of his mouth. 

Internally, he wanted to decipher why it was all happening. He thought back to the night at the club -- the night Albert ran away from him. How scared the other man had been at the thought of being given intimacy freely, as though the idea that someone truly wanted to be with him was too much to handle. 

_This is punishment._

Nicholai's thoughts got lost as a wave of orgasm flooded down into his stomach, and his mental faculties became dedicated to ensuring he didn't choke. 

"Who's going to take his mouth next?" The man above him groaned. 

"I think it's my turn." A second voice piped up with a sneering chuckle. 

Just as soon as the cock slipped from his torn lips, another was positioned in front of him. Nicholai tried to spit up the cum thickly lingering in the back of his throat, but was penetrated before he could release it. It was pushed further down, making it even more difficult to breath the tiny breaths he was able to through his nose. 

Behind him, he could barely register the sensations of being fucked, a mental fog beginning to swell at the front of his mind and obscuring all rational thought. 

The fog became thicker and thicker. His eyes fluttered shut, body losing strength rapidly. His legs buckled, but he was grabbed by the hips and forced back up. 

"Is he allowed to pass out?" A murmur cut its way through the moans and squelches.

"Who cares? Let's just finish, tell the boss, and get out of here."

~

Albert side-stepped into the apartment through a door barely split from the frame enough for him to fit through. Hastily, he closed and locked it behind him. The hallway was narrow, and several doors faced directly towards Nicholai’s. While no one was in the long, darkened hall, he treated it as though there was.

The grunts were gone, trained and loyal to the order to clear out immediately after the page they’d made to him telling him the deed was done.

They’d turned off the lights when they left. Albert didn’t immediately see where the switch was, but knew there was a lamp in the living room by the dark, leather chair. 

The faintest peep accompanied the thin, metal cord being pulled — a mellow orange light casting its glow over the centre of the room, highlighting the chair he’d immediately take residence on with a crossed leg before bothering to acknowledge the scene a few feet before him. 

“How was that?” 

A whimper was the only response the demanding question evoked. 

"You're quite the mess."

Nicholai was curled on his side in a foetal position, arm draped over his face protectively. Tiny trembles echoed their way through his body every few moments that passed, though he was entirely silent. Pale skin still clammy, it reflected the glow of the floor lamp, glistening perversely bright on his thighs, where a small puddle of juice wasn't quite dried behind him on the hardwood floor.

As he sat, nonchalantly taking stock and inventory of every darkening bruise and tiny scratch across Nicholai's flesh, Albert's nose finally began to be tickled with the scent of cum, sweat, and a peculiar other thing he didn't quite know was blood or urine. 

When Nicholai finally moved his arm, revealing the bloody spot of thick, coagulated red on his lips and chin, Albert's internal curiosity had an answer. 

Broken, reddened jade eyes started out with a total blankness. Albert couldn't quite tell if he was looking at him, or through him. 

"Speak."

A single, sardonic chuckle was prompted by the order.

"What the fuck do you want me to say...?" A hushed whisper, barely audible. Had Albert not been focusing on the sounds breathing past Nicholai's fattened lip, he likely wouldn't have heard it above the cars passing on the street below.

Albert pursed his lips, "You seem upset."

A wheezy, pained laugh shook at Nicholai's chest. Slowly, he pushed himself up on one shaky arm, sitting up on his side after a moment of struggling. 

"And you seem _chickenshit_."

Every tiny movement in Albert's body ceased abruptly, lungs even seizing after a final exhale and refusing to refuel with oxygen. 

" _Vyskazatsya_." Nicholai mumbled, head lulling down as though it were too heavy to hold, " _V'chem delo...? Razgovaryvat_."

Albert didn't understand the softly spat Russian, arms lifting from the chair to fold across his chest as he watched Nicholai try to change his position, slipping onto his knees with tiny, pained moans. He was trying to stand, but every movement was accompanied by a shockwave of numbness or throbbing, as was every sound he made. 

"Chickenshit, Albert." The words were slightly slurred for the split lip, "It's pathetic."

"How dar--" Albert's protest was immediately disrupted. Cut short with a crude interruption he'd never experienced before.

"Shut up!" Nicholai snapped, finally making his way to shaky legs, thigh muscles rippling as he wavered slightly, hand raising to grip his forehead as though he had a sudden onslaught of motion sickness. "You couldn't even watch." His voice dropped to a hushed mutter, "You want to hurt me? Then watch. Be a man."

Albert felt a lead ball swell in his throat. The night had suddenly taken an incredible 180 degree turn from where he had anticipated it being in his head, the throne of control and dominance abruptly snatched from him.

"And why you want to hurt me? What I do?" Nicholai's hand dropped from his head, accent thickening as he slurred over sloppy English sentences, "Enjoyed you? Tried to... to..." 

_Be your friend?_

_Make you happy?_

_Teach you?_

Options rolled through Nicholai's pain-foggy head, but he let them all slip away from him like a helium balloon soaring up towards the ceiling.

"You are so **_fucking_** scared of being a human." Nicholai scoffed after a moment of silence, swallowing hard as he reorganised his thoughts once again. "And I remind you... that you are human, _da_?"

_A bit too human._

Albert stood, a huff of anxious exasperation breathing through his nose. Without responding, he strode towards the door, boots clamouring loudly on the hardwood floor. Nicholai began laughing, a wheezy, choked laugh jaggedly pressing out of his torn throat.

"Next time just shoot me in the head!" He screeched as loud as he could, the cut on his lip reopening with a sharp _pang_ of pain.

The door slammed shut, and he was alone again. 

Blissfully alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIGH
> 
> ALBERT 
> 
> YOU MISERABLE ASSHOLE. DON'T YOU SEE WHAT YOU ARE DOING? Nicholai has you pegged and you're just going to continue denying your humanity and taking it out on him like he's a pincushion.


	7. Bad Tastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert pays Nicholai a visit.

The room was dark but for the hollow, fluorescent glow of an idle computer monitor. 

The tower of the device hummed loudly, fan whirring as it speedily attempted to disperse the heat swelling inside the computer -- one that was barely ever turned off for the vast swaths of project documents and wordpads open Albert was reluctant to ever close. 

He had occupied his last week with a H.H.C.F briefing, spelling out administrative details on a commissioned B.O.W plan meticulously, carefully. As always, just enough information to satisfy his new employers -- Umbrella's hopeful successors -- but not enough to reveal what he did not want revealed. 

Sitting at the desk, almost unmoving for a length of time he hadn't bothered to keep track of, Albert flicked his eyes towards the glaring digital clock in the top right corner of the screen. 

1:09 a.m.

It was Wednesday; A day he would normally go to see Nicholai at some point, along with Friday and Saturday. 

But he wasn't going to, just as he hadn't the week before.

_You're chickenshit, Albert._

The words continuously drummed through his head like a headache on the verge of tipping into a debilitating migraine. Every moment he hadn't been distracted with something else -- they began sounding, echoing off of the walls as though they had just been spoken. Blaring through a non existent loudspeaker in his own mind, swarming like flies buzzing through the wrinkles of his brain. Irritating.

Albert didn't know why it had bothered him so much. Why _anything_ had bothered him as much as it had as of late.

Nicholai had meant to be a temporary arrangement. He had told himself the Russian was an object, a tool to achieve an end -- much like he was when contracted as a mercenary. Money exchanged, needs fulfilled. It was all supposed to be simple.

Yet it had become anything but. 

And it was all Nicholai's fault -- or so he told himself.

After the night at the club, Albert had expended hours of silent, solitary rage. At first, he'd decided Nicholai had been trying to pull the wool over his eyes on something, perhaps gain an advantage in some, strange way. But when the answers he'd given himself consistently failed tests of logic, he'd become furious. He then decided Nicholai had simply been childishly playing with him -- a psychological anarchist, prompting destructive emotions for no legitimate rhyme nor reason. Albert's fury had sweltered to a boiling point.

 _Who is he_ , Albert thought, _to force me to lose control like this? To provoke me like this?_

It was then that he had decided to punish him, to regain control in a tangible way. To _force_ him to submit and preform the way he was meant to. As a tool.

But Nicholai had stomped all over those plans as well, and Albert didn't understand how he could have failed on multiple fronts in the way he had.

Albert finally broke his statue-like posture of general discontent, scrubbing a hand over his face and grumbling nonsense before rising from the deskchair he'd occupied for longer than he could recall. Anxious, choppy strides across the bedroom took him towards the door, and instinct alone guided him down the darkened hallway of his 5th Avenue condominium towards the kitchen. 

He wasn't hungry, but opened the fridge door regardless, idly panning the brightly illuminated shelves with a semi-exhausted squint. He pretended not to see the unopened bottle of vodka on the topmost shelf, Russian text glaring at him accusatorially. 

He hadn't even known why he had bought the _damn_ thing. The taste he had acquired after repeated offerings by Nicholai had been anything but a pleasant. It burned his throat, leaving a bad taste in his mouth and high-pitched squeal in his sinuses that reminded him of inhaling rubbing alcohol. Liquor wasn't a vice he ever indulged, the haze it left in his mind made him feel vulnerable.

Seconds of silence turned to minutes. 

The fridge began to bubble and _humm_.

Albert was tapping his finger against the door with increasing speed, lips pulling into a straight line as he pointedly, pointlessly focused on the leftover sashimi from the last night's dinner.

"Oh shut up." He suddenly spat at the bottle, eyes whipping up to glare at it.

Grabbing the frosted-glass neck, he hauled the small bottle from the fridge, slamming the fridge shut behind him as he did, various glass bottles on the inside of the door rattling and clanking loudly. He set the bottle on the marble-topped kitchen island, having a small staring competition with it. He prodded the glass body every so often, as though waiting for it to come alive and snip at his fingers like an angry chihuahua. 

He grumbled, turning and opening a nearby glass-doored cabinet, snatching a cup from inside.

"Fuck it."

~

Nicholai's eyes shot open, an unsettled feeling creeping through his temples as his eyes darted around the room.

An instinctual waking, his body -- well trained from years of battle -- was telling him something was awry, demanding his consciousness. 

He waited a moment, listening carefully before rolling his head on his pillow towards the small, bedside table where his clock radio was casting an eerie red haze across his white sheets.

_3:14 a.m._

He took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut after he was satisfied with the prolonged silence through the darkness. But just as he'd convinced himself it was just another night terror -- a pointless jolt awake prompted by his confused, pained mind -- he heard it. 

_Click click click_

The rattling sound was easily identifiable as the door handle of his apartment wiggling, the rusty knob squeaking slightly as someone unsuccessfully tried to turn it from the outside. Immediately, Nicholai's arm darted from the sheets, opening the bedside drawer and clumsily grabbing his SIGPro.

_Click click click_

Jumping from bed, Nicholai strode across the dark studio apartment, naked feet plodding on the cold floor as his heart rate rapidly increased, cocking back the hammer of his weapon when he was less than a meter away from the door. 

_Click click click_

He slowed his steps, raising his handgun as he reached for the door's lock with his other hand, counting a second of respite to catch his jagged breath before carefully sliding the chain across the length of its guard until he was able to wiggle it free. The chain-links dropped noisily against the door as his hand reached for the next lock, twisting the silver latch to the right until the bolt slid free of the frame.

Before he could even touch the door's knob, it had begun to rattle again. This time, unencumbered by the locks, the clicks weren't impotent. As the knob turned, Nicholai steeled himself, bringing his free hand to rest on the lower grip of his handgun.

Breathing slowly, Nicholai waited for the would-be-intruder to turn the knob enough to snap the latch and push the door open. It creaked softly as it separated itself from the frame, a lead ball forming in Nicholai's throat as his grasp on the gun became tighter and tighter. 

Suddenly, the door clamoured open loudly, slamming into the wall beside it. Nicholai gasped, finger wrapping around the trigger nervously as he considered pulling it and shooting randomly into the darkness, but his soldier's instincts forced him to still. Though he had been expecting an assault the moment the door flew open, none ever came.

His eyes still adjusting to the darkness, he began to blink away the haze of adrenaline... until he saw _him_.

Toppled against the door was an unmistakable blonde figure, his hand wrapped around the doorknob and body pressed into the wood as though he couldn't hold his own weight.

" ** _Blyat_**! Wesker!" Nicholai scoffed loudly, gasping in exasperation as he dropped his gun to his side, arm heavily slapping against his thigh, "I could have **_fucking_** shot you!"

"'s okay..."

"It's _three_ in the _**fucking**_ morning." Nicholai spat, not quite yet registering the acrid smell wafting from the blonde, "What do you want?!"

"Is... it?" Albert slurred with a heavy sigh, leaning harder into the cracked wooden door, "Oh dear."

Nicholai's brows cocked up rapidly, eyes widening slightly as the remnants of adrenalised anxiety began to melt away. A few, tepid sniffs drew in a familiar smell.

"Are you... Are you drunk?"

Albert began to protest, asserting his sobriety through a hiccup, but was interrupted by a slurry of his own, giddy laughs. Nicholai rubbed his head with a heavy palm, sighing deeply in exasperation before reaching out and grabbing the older man by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into the apartment. 

The virologist almost tumbled as he was dragged along, Nicholai navigating him towards the bed at the far corner of the studio. He was grumbling in Russian, harsh syllables lost on the other man, whose eyes were very nearly rolling in his head through his liquor-induced haze. Nicholai tossed Albert onto the mattress with ease, his body unable to resist any manipulation. Slipping the gun onto the bedside table, Nicholai grabbed Albert's shoes, pulling them off and tossing them to the floor unceremoniously, one at a time. Albert groaned, mumbling drunk nothings as he felt his limbs being manhandled without his control.

"How did you even get here?" Nicholai hissed, grabbing at Albert's pants and pulling his legs onto the bed with a grunt. " _Debil_!"

Another harsh scoff escaped the Russian's lips, nostrils flaring in frustration as he watched the other man slowly curl onto his side, eyes fluttering shut almost immediately. 

"Thank you so much for ruining my night." Nicholai clicked his tongue against his teeth angrily, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as he realised he would have to sleep on his couch -- thin double bed far too small for them both. His hand darted out to grab at the sheet, tousled from his rapid departure. Tugging it firmly, he dislodged it from the other man's body.

"I'm taking my fucking blanket." 

~

As his eyes opened, Albert immediately felt a wave of nausea pulsate through his head. 

An involuntary groan escaped him, hands immediately darting up to grab at his skull, a march of beating waves that threatened to crack the bone in two beginning to undulate through it.

It was a few moments before he decided the distinct sound of crackling wasn't simply a static buzzing occurring in his own head. The crackling was accompanied by a smell, one that Albert couldn't quite decide was pleasant or not through the nauseated churning his stomach was rattling through.

"Good morning, Prince Wesker!" A sarcastic sneer hacked at his eardrums, tapping at his dizzy brain with cruel childishness.

A sarcastic _accented_ sneer.

Albert's head jerked up to meet the sound, but he immediately regretted the instinct-driven speed at which he had responded, surroundings beginning to expand and contract, rolling across his vision as though every object in the room were sentient. Suddenly, his purview was obscured, a darkness filling the space his eyes were impotently focused on. 

"Get up, Prince Wesker, you need to put something in your stomach."

"W-- _gahh_..." Albert attempted another noise, but his cotton-dry mouth simply clicked and grunted over the syllables of words unknown to even him.

An exacerbated sigh cast warm breath over him, and slowly he felt himself being tugged upwards by the material of his shirt until he was sitting. Unable to resist the manipulation, he could feel strong hands grip at his thighs, turning him until they dropped off the edge of the mattress like useless logs.

"Get up!" He was prompted again, eyes fluttering into focus as the distinct, cock-nosed expression of Nicholai Zinoviev slowly swayed through his bloodshot eyes.

Nicholai was leaning down over him, jade eyes piercing into his with an arrogant dissatisfaction. The Russian tsk'd, clicking his tongue against his teeth in the way he did when he was filtering through utter contempt. A moment passed between them before Nicholai stood and strode off with a huff, the sound of clattering dishes and clinking pan-ware piercing through Albert's skull like a needle. 

It took him a moment to orient himself, standing with the assistance of the bedside table. Even semi-conscious, he was able to process the presence of a handgun there, rocking against his fingers as he used the tabletop to stabilise. 

A few tepid steps were attempted, barely a foot in length each. A pathetic shuffle that sent whiplashing heartburn tickling at his oesophagus. 

"Come here!" A voice directed him, and he instinctively followed the sound, even though focused on his bare feet, which were desperately trying to find purchase with every movement. Eventually, he ended up at a chair, one which scraped across the floor noisily as he accidentally knocked into it. 

Sitting was awkward and clumsy, Nicholai having to rush to his side and grab him as he noticed the other man barely making contact with the seat in his first attempt, but slowly, he was adjusted into place.

Albert immediately snatched the mug on the table in clammy palms as he noticed the quiver of liquid inside. Without concern for even what it was, he chugged it down thirstily, dry mouth celebrating the much-needed injection of moisture.

At first. 

And then the taste came -- a sour, acrid burst that made him gag. Nicholai cackled a derisive laugh as he watched the scene, Albert's face contorting and twisting as though he'd sucked on a lemon.

"W-- what the **_fuck_** is that...?"

" _Rassol_." Nicholai clucked before translating, "Pickle water. Good for hangovers."

Albert attempted to swallow the flavour away, lip still upturned in disgust. Quickly, something more appetising was set before him, Nicholai scooping up the contents of a frying pan onto a plate before sliding it across the table with a simple command.

"Eat."

While food was the last thing on his mind, the meal did look appetising. Small, round, pancake-like fritters were neatly stacked up on a cracked plate, perfectly browned exteriors emitting a savoury, almost cheesy smell.

" _Oladushki_." Nicholai immediately identified them, catching Albert's question before it had a moment to escape him, "Also good for hangovers."

Tentatively, Albert picked up one of the little cakes with two fingers, sniffing it before taking a small bite. They were warm, moist, and soft, with the slight aftertaste of yogurt. Nicholai quickly began spooning condiments onto his plate from little pots that were on the table -- white, liquidy sour cream and some kind of dark red preserve. 

"Eat with this." He mumbled, turning away and pouring coffee from the little percolator on the counter. It wasn't an espresso, but it still smelled heavenly.

Nicholai leaned down to set a full, piping mug down in front of him before sitting in the chair across from his, sighing and scrubbing a hand across his forehead. 

"You puked all over my damn sheets." He spat suddenly, scoffing and taking a sip of his coffee, "All over your clothes. All ov-- all over everything!"

Albert stopped chewing, for the first time noticing he was in a simple, white henley and green boxer shorts that he most definitely didn't own. 

"It took me two hours to clean everyth--" Nicholai began to moan, sighing in frustration, "Absolute idiot." He grumbled.

Albert swallowed the food he'd been chewing, head dipping down slightly as his head resonated with the headache of the verbal lashing.

"So--"

"You should be sorry!" Nicholai barked, standing suddenly, the force of his rising causing a bit of coffee to spill over the rim of his glass, "You should feel ashamed! **_Mudak_**!" 

Nicholai began to anxiously pace the small kitchen area, crossing his arms tightly as rage began to well up inside of him for the first time since he'd gotten Albert out of bed. 

"And why were you even drinking anyway?!" He asked to no one in particular, fully knowing he was having an infuriated conversation with himself, "Do you have an **_emotion_** you were trying to deal with, perhaps?" He jeered, snarling slightly, "Not possible! _**Albert Wesker**_ doesn't feel _**emotions**_ , does he?"

Nicholai dropped into his seat again, huffing loudly. His hand made the gesture of going to grab his mug, but stopped halfway and turned to prod at his chest with a solitary finger.

"At least _**I**_ have the decency to put a price on watching the world burn -- **_you_** want to light it on fire because you think it looks pretty!" He snorted a sardonic laugh, "Nothing matters to you. **_Nothing_**! You are a selfish, spoiled **_prick_**."

In an instant he fell silent, a single, final rumble of air pushing out of his nose as he clenched his jaw tightly, fully aware that his tangent had rapidly diverted away from a simple chiding over soiled linens. He lifted his mug to his lips, taking a shaky sip as he attempted to compose himself, beating down his exasperated rage. 

Albert was sitting silently on the other side of the table, unmoving but for the occasional blink. 

"N--"

"Just eat and **_shut up_**!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Albert.
> 
> You dork.
> 
> King Dorkus. 
> 
> Let's see if he ever comes to terms with his stupid superiority complex and narcissistic personality, yes?
> 
> \---
> 
> Translations, just a few:
> 
> Blyat: Shit! 
> 
> Mudak: Asshole
> 
> Debil: Moron


	8. Normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [nothing too-too steamy in this chapter, just more emotional, angsty nonsense!]

The breakfast was nibbled at in silence. 

Sitting across from Albert, Nicholai drank coffee and read a newspaper he procured from the living room. He silently chastised Albert whenever the blonde stopped munching on his fritters, browbeating him over the edge of the paper into finishing his food. 

When he was finished, Nicholai snatched the plates and cups from the table and dumped them into the small, counter-top sink which was already brimming with pans. Nicholai turned the water on, and the savoury scents of the meal quickly gave way to the smell of lemon dish soap lathering under furious, noisy scrubs. 

As Nicholai cleaned, Albert sulked. Elbows up on the table, his eyes rolled across the scratched, grainy wood tabletop. Sometimes, they peeped up at Nicholai's back -- muscles twitching beneath the tight, white undershirt he was wearing. Sometimes, they twitched around the small kitchen area, taking in the little details he'd never taken in before, obscured by the usual darkness of his visits. 

And suddenly, as the light of the room shifted through the foggy windows, he saw it. 

A small photo reflecting the glint of sunlight -- pinned to the front of the refrigerator with a plain, black magnet. 

Albert craned his neck forward, eyes squinting as he tried to make out the scene depicted on the time-bleached film. 

The buildings in the background of the picture were obvious -- Saint Basil's Cathedral in Moscow, spiral spires reached up towards the sky. But in the foreground, a woman -- long, red hair flowing from beneath the hood of a large jacket. She had a simple smile on her face, posing with a boot kicked behind her comically.

"Who is that?" Albert couldn't help the mumbled question as it passed from his lips.

Nicholai stopped his scrubbing for a moment, casting a gaze over his shoulder, eyes following the trail of Albert's to the fridge. 

"Anastasia." He said flatly, before turning back to continue his washing.

Alfred snorted at the responseless response, a hollow answer that prompted nothing more than questions.

"Who is..?"

"My girlfriend." 

The tap squealed as Nicholai turned them off, setting the last pan in the sink-side drying rack before snatching a cloth and wiping his hands. When he turned to face the table, he couldn't help but giggle at the dumb, taken-aback expression peeled across Albert's face.

"Well... she _was_ my girlfriend." Nicholai sighed, tossing the cloth back onto the counter, "My ex-girlfriend."

"Y-- " Albert's golden eyebrows were cocked up towards the ceiling, processing the information infernally slowly, "But I thought... Why do you..."

Nicholai shrugged, taking his seat across from Albert again, grunting as he plopped down on the hair chair heavily.

"I like both." He said nonchalantly, answering the unvocalised question, licking his lips as he ruminated over another thought, "But women-- a woman wouldn't... _want_ someone like me. Not after everything I've done."

Albert watched Nicholai's jade eyes flick over towards the picture, rising and falling from its focus rapidly, as though if he stared at it too long, the woman depicted inside would pop out of the film and trot around the kitchen. 

"I could have maybe... had a different life, once." Nicholai scoffed to himself, shaking his head, "I'm sure you know all about that feeling."

Albert kneaded his cold feet together in discomfort beneath the table, brow furrowing slightly as he felt Nicholai's gaze refocus onto him -- sharp and precise. It was like the night in the club all over again.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He said, a smarmy tone returning to his voice as he tried to hide what was clear.

Nicholai smirked, "Yes you do!" He snapped derisively, clucking his tongue, "Didn't you ever sit at your desk at RPD, surrounded by people who considered you as nothing more than _their friend Albert_ , and think that is what life could have been for you?"

The blonde cleared his throat, a hand rising to play at the edges of his hair on the back of his head awkwardly, blue eyes dancing along the table top once again.

"Normal." Nicholai huffed, "A normal man with a normal life."

~

The bathroom was small, but clean. The enamel of the old tub was cracked and worn, but Albert could smell the distinct scent of bleach scrubbed firmly into the camel-coloured tiles of the floor. There was a mop leaned up against the wall in the corner, and for a moment, Albert could just faintly catch a whiff of fading vomit. 

He groaned to himself, cringing internally at the humiliating mess he likely made of himself the previous night, shuddering as he pulled off the clothes Nicholai had dressed him in. He tossed the in the corner of the room before leaning into the tub and turning on the old, creaky taps. He used a flat palm to gauge the water's temperature before letting the shower stopper run for a few moments before stepping in and immersing himself below the stream. 

The sigh of contentedness that escaped him was involuntary. The warm water beating over his migraine-traumatised skull felt incredible, and it was only when the water began to slip down over his body that he realised how truly filthy he had felt. 

Nicholai's soap smelled like mint and honey. It instantly answered the unconsidered question Albert had always had about the lingering scents he had caught on the younger man during their encounters. It reminded him of wandering through the old antique market in Raccoon City's Chinatown he used to visit, and the tiniest bit of incense that would be perfuming his steps. 

Albert caught himself smelling the small pool of the soap he'd collected in his hands, eyes closed, as though it were comforting. 

Rustling beyond the shower's curtain caught his attention, and he cast a look out through the white fabric until he heard Nicholai speak.

"Your clothes are out of the dryer, Prince Albert Wesker!"

"Mmph..."

"What's that?" Nicholai replied, sing-songy smugness suggesting a smile was on his face.

"Thank you..." Albert grumbled, quickly scrubbing the soap onto his body.

Just as he turned into the stream to rinse himself, the shower curtain was abruptly pushed open. He gasped a bit, surprised by the sudden intrusion, and even more so by the sight of Nicholai stepping into the shower with him unceremoniously.

"What are you doing?"

Nicholai rolled his eyes, snatching the bottle of soap from the side-shelf, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Should I have asked for permission to take a shower in my _own fucking apartment_?"

Albert scoffed, "You could have waited your turn!"

"Why?" Nicholai smirked deviously, lathering soap across his chest, "Can you not control yourself around me?"

The Russian reached out, setting his arms atop Albert's shoulders casually as his grin grew. 

"You hate me so much, don't you?" He jeered, leaning in closely, "Because you need something from me."

"I don't need anything from you." Albert said flatly, blinking away the water that was rushing down his face.

"Liar! You're a liar and you know you're a liar." Nicholai chided, clucking his tongue. His arms weighed heavier on Albert's shoulders, "That's why you bought my debt. That's why you left me with those _brutes_. Because you've been vulnerable with me and you **_needed_** to be and _you **hate** that_."

Nicholai stood back, lifting his arms from where they had been and returning to scrubbing himself clean. Albert stared at him blankly, biting the inside of his cheek as he mulled over the rant. 

"We're not so different..." Nicholai said with a sigh, "I said that to you once before, right? Only I _want_ to be normal. You _resent_ that you want to be."

"Maybe you had a chance at being normal. I didn't."

"You do." Nicholai insisted, stopping to stare at Albert deeply, "You've had escape routes. At RPD... And now you have me."

Albert felt irritation welling up in his throat, and he quickly exited the shower, pushing the curtain to the side and grabbing a towel that was draped on the small stand by the sink. Nicholai watched him with curiosity, unconcerned for the water trickling to the floor.

"You own my debt, you have more power and money than me... You have nothing to lose by just--"

Albert cast a glare over his shoulder as Nicholai trailed off, searching for words.

"By just what?"

"Relaxing." Nicholai cocked an eyebrow, "Not everything has to be shitty and painful all of the time, Prince Albert."

Albert snorted, wrapping the towel around his waist after patting his face dry and snatching his clothes from where Nicholai had left them, neatly folded in a tiny pile.

"Stop calling me that." He said, striding out of the steamy bathroom. Behind him, Nicholai pulled the shower curtain closed.

"Yes... Your royal highness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY I KEEP NEGLECTING THIS SERIES. I WILL TRY HARDER TT-TT


End file.
